Fallen One (Book three of Alfireán age)

- Are we there yet? -

Harold released his charge with a grunt, and the stone road rumbled under his feet as an earth spike exploded from the ground and impaled the charging boar.

Trees shook; birds burst from the forest, and ear-piercing shrieks from the dying beast filled the air as the elephant-sized pig met a grisly end.

The butler frowned at the mutated creature, not in the least bit pleased with the oddity skewered on his spike. Nudging his horse, he made his way forward, leaned over, and peered at the four-foot-long, curved tusks emerging from the animal's snout.

Curious, Harold slung his leg over the mare's side, slid to the ground, and formed a scrying to examine the specimen.

Suddenly, something hairy and heavily armored burst through the tree line behind him. As it barreled towards the headmaster, his grey mare reared in fright and dashed off back towards Brockovich.

With the sound of her hooves thundering in his ears, Harold spun and threw up a channeled shield around himself. A bone-shaking thud rang throughout the forest moments later as the animal crashed into his barrier and bounced off. As his shield dispersed in a shower of blue sparks, the butler brought up both of his hands, placed his palms together, and cast a blast of wind sharp enough to slice a tree in half.

The wind scythe hissed through the air and bashed into the attacking creature. However, the magical blade only sheared off a few hairs and dispersed harmlessly against the animal's armored hide.

A horrible screech rent the air, and the beast's narrowed snout turned back towards him, and once again, it charged.

Harold dived out of the way.

Brown, green, and blue flashed in his eyesight, then finally brown again as he tucked and rolled, then sprung to his feet. With no other available option, he brought up his right hand and pointed his index finger at his foe.

Die! he mentally commanded.

Harold's brain lit up as if it were on fire, and all of his energy raced down his arm and into his finger. The world blurred; his eyes hazed over, and just as his mind felt as if it were at its limit, the attacking creature suddenly stopped and fell over dead.

Harold gasped, sucked down a lungful of air, and fell to one knee.

As his limbs trembled, he stared down at his hand. Only two times before in his life had he used the accursed artifact—well, there had been a third time, but it hadn't worked then. Thankfully, this time it had.

Closing his eyes, the headmaster shook himself, trying to relieve the immense pressure the use of the artifact had caused to his pounding head.

After several moments of recovering, he stood up and gazed down at the dead animal. A screaming hairy armadillo, he noted: usually a prey, not a predator. Things were not as they should be.

Harold glanced towards the village where his horse had retreated; there would be no fetching her back. Truthfully, he was more worried about the boy. With such creatures in the woods, it was more than likely he'd already met a grisly end.

No, he mustn't assume that.

Danarc was young, curious, and surprisingly resourceful.

Harold closed his eyes. "Heavenly Father, I ask that you keep the child safe and help me find him." Images of both Olivia and Alfonso floated into his mind. "And please keep them safe as well, Father. In Jesus' name, amen."

Finishing his prayer, he opened his eyes and continued on his way, leaving the dead creatures behind. The sun hung low in the sky, and despite the spells embedded in the highway not working, he was now more than halfway to Glandledale, and he had no intention of returning this way tonight.